Someone Like You
by Mlee.Write
Summary: "At some point Teresa Lisbon realizes she's grieving for a relationship that never existed." Angst. Jisbon. Rated M for language and adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Someone Like You

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning a profit from this.

Summary: "At some point Teresa Lisbon realizes she's grieving for a relationship that never existed." Angst. Jisbon.

Spoilers: 4 x 24

Author's Note: Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. It's been a long time since I've written anything. I had some issues with the formatting initially. Hopefully the section breaks are better now.

I.

For a moment he doesn't think he can go through with it; the soft kisses, the shy glance of dark eyes beneath down-swept lashes. It's too intimate, and it's choking him.

He pushes her onto her stomach, pressing into her from behind, one hand on her neck. She's mewling at him in pleasure, but he says nothing. He keeps his hand in place, not hurting her, but keeping her gaze averted. She can't look at his eyes; if she does she'll see they're glassed over.

XXX

At some point Teresa Lisbon realizes she's grieving for a relationship that never existed. Lorelei's admission that she and Jane had been lovers had cemented into place a sad reality. The "someday" that Teresa was hoping for, was lying to herself about hoping for, wasn't coming. She'd never really acknowledged that fantasy in the first place. If it took her a little longer to do her hair in the morning, it wasn't for Jane. If she secretly delighted in his flirting it was because she wasn't getting out enough. She was not holding a torch for that man.

"He gave it to me from behind, you know," Lorelei whispers conspiratorially. They are alone in the interview room, the lights dimmed, the setting almost intimate.

Teresa knows that the pretty brunette is trying to goad her into losing her temper, into revealing something.

"That's fascinating," she says, her voice as smooth and cool as glass. "Did you mention that to Cho? I'm sure he'd appreciate the update."

Lorelei's eyes flash and she smirks, and Lisbon wants nothing more than to slap the preening bitch. She is mindful of the cameras and keeps her hands in front of her on the table, not even a twitch.

"When do I get to see Patrick again?" Lorelei pouts. "I miss him."

Lisbon stands up to leave. "He knows where you are."

XXX

Time passes and Jane settles into his routine with the team. Clean clothes, a haircut, a few apologetic smiles, and he's more or less accepted back into the family. When you catch murderers for a living you learn to let go, he supposes. Everyone seems to forgive him, except Lisbon.

He lies on his couch and feels her frosty indifference when she passes by him. She doesn't so much at glance at him at anymore. The banter they used to share, the almost maternal frustration she used to show toward his antics, is gone. When they're on a case her icy professionalism burns him. He teases her, goads her, prods at all the places he knows will draw a reaction. When her green eyes look at him all he sees is disappointment.

The team picks up on it, especially Grace. They shift uncomfortably as he tries to re-insert himself into Lisbon's good favor. They don't like it when mommy and daddy fight. After awhile he gives up for their sake, the tension becoming too much for them to remain a cohesive team. He pulls back. He still pulls his stunts, sets his traps, springs his surprises, but the humor is gone.

Jane looks up at the Elvis-shaped stain on the ceiling. His mouth tastes like ash.

He is closer to Red John; he knows it. Lorelei will crack. He will find Red John. He will kill him.

He should be twitching with manic anticipation, but he feels cold and empty. He feels like he's already sacrificed too much on the altar of his vengeance. He didn't think he had anything left to give.

His eyes slide to Lisbon's closed door.

He was wrong.

XXX

Jane steps into the elevator, jacket draped over his arm. He's leaving. He's considering not coming back. He can feel how his presence is tearing at the team, fraying them around the edges. Worse yet he can feel Lisbon's anger at him cool into something terrifying. She's let him go. He could almost handle the disappointment, the rage he would see when she would look at him. Lately there's been nothing there at all. She no longer feels anything toward him and it's like looking into a chasm and knowing there is no bottom. It sucks the breath from his lungs and leaves him empty, too.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He knew that he would become cold, frozen inside to exact revenge. Any emotion was a potential liability. Now he doesn't feel so frozen anymore. There is an ember inside him, struggling to kindle into something larger. He doesn't want to squelch the heat.

His hand shoots out and stops the door before it slides shut. He walks back toward to the bullpen, toward his couch where he drops his jacket without folding it.

He's going to stoke this little fire and see what happens. If he fails, well, then he's lost everything already anyway.

XXXXX

Teresa is in her office, letting the tedium of endless forms distract her from how miserable she is. She doesn't even have the energy to be pissed off anymore, although if Lorelei had a bad fall coming back from interrogation she might be able to summon up a vengeful smirk.

Her office door opens without a knock. It's been a long time since that's happened and she doesn't look up.

"Hey, Lisbon—" Jane stops short.

The surprise in his voice makes her look up.

"You cut your hair," he says.

Teresa reaches up and runs her fingers through her feathered brown locks. She did it on a whim, a pixie cut, her hair barely longer than a boy's. She should have done it before, she thinks. It's so much easier than managing long hair, especially when you've got suspects grabbing your ponytail when you tackle them. It's not like she's trying to impress anyone.

"I had it done last night," she says, her voice flat.

"It looks good on you," Jane replies, coming into her office, standing in front of her desk. "Really works with your petite features. It brings out your eyes." His voice is a little soft, and he studies her carefully.

She shrugs, looks down at the forms in front of her. "I should have cut it a long time ago."

"Women often cut their hair after a relationship ends," he observes. "It's a way of moving on; the more drastic the change, the harder the breakup."

Teresa nearly gasps, then gets a grip, and looks up, steely-eyed. "I haven't broken up with anyone lately. The haircut is practical." Her tone is glacial.

"And adorable," he points out. He smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling in anticipation of her annoyance.

She sighs and settles back into her seat. "Did you want something, Jane?"

He moves around behind her chair and starts motioning her out of it. "I thought we could get lunch. I haven't seen you out of this office today so I'm assuming you haven't eaten yet," he says, already hustling her away from her desk.

Teresa stays put, the soles of her shoes planting firmly on the floor as she pushes herself back into her chair.

His hands are on her shoulders, insistent. It's not the first time he's touched her this way, but it's especially irritating for some reason. His skin feels too hot through the thin fabric of her blouse. She swats him away a little more forcefully than really necessary.

"I'm not hungry," she says.

"You are. Your hands are shaking because your blood sugar is low," he argues. His hands drop from her shoulders.

She looks back at her paperwork, unyielding. "I had a granola bar earlier. I'm fine. I have work to do, Jane."

The dismissal is clear and a little harsh.

She swears Jane almost flinches. "I just thought some break-up chocolate cake…" he trails off flippantly. He moves for the door.

"I didn't break up with anyone," she responds coldly.

He stops halfway out the door, looking at her with unusual seriousness. Teresa meets his gaze and fights back the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

He smirks at her. "Liar."

He closes the door. It takes a minute for Teresa to realize she's holding her breath. Something flickers deep inside her. She ignores it.

XXX

Teresa opens the refrigerator and frowns at its lack of contents. There is something on the top shelf, but she's not sure what it used to be before it grew a thick pelt of white fuzz. She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

Her hunger pangs disappear when she feels his fingers brush her hips, just a ghost of a touch, hovering over her. She stiffens. Jane leans over her shoulder, ostensibly studying the thing on the top shelf.

"Kiwi," he announces.

Teresa moves to shut the fridge door, to turn around and walk away. Jane doesn't move, trapping her between his body and the door. His fingers still trace her hips, just barely brushing the fabric of her slacks.

"Excuse me," she says, her tone clearly annoyed.

"I thought you weren't hungry," he says, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that he's violating her personal space. His hand moves to her jacket pocket, slides inside.

He produces an apple, fairy tale red and shiny. He holds it out to her. Her hand shakes when she snatches it from him.

"Low blood sugar," he says.

Teresa shoves at him, intent on getting away and locking herself safely away again. Her hand presses flat against his chest, but he doesn't move, just leans into her touch. She shifts back, startled. His lips brush her hair, just above her ear.

"It's not poisoned," he whispers.

The intimacy of his position, of those incredibly soft touches, throws her off balance. She pushes him hard, and he stumbles back and out of her way.

Teresa glares at him. She takes a bite of the apple, and its sweetness explodes in her mouth. It's the first thing she's really tasted in months. She feels a thin line of clear juice running down her chin. She wipes it away savagely.

Jane's eyes are dark, pupils dilated.

She knows she's thawing, and it enrages her that he would use seduction as a means of earning her forgiveness.

The woman who says "sheep dip" and "oh, hush," looks him in the eye, swallows her bite of apple, and says clearly, "Fuck you, Jane."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Someone Like You

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning a profit from this.

Summary: "At some point Teresa Lisbon realizes she's grieving for a relationship that never existed." Angst. Jisbon.

Spoilers: 4 x 24

Author's Note: Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. It's been a long time since I've written anything. I updated the story so the formatting for section breaks should be correct now.

II.

Lorelei shifts in her chair, handcuffs clinking as she folds her hands.

Teresa hasn't said a word for ten minutes. Silence makes people uncomfortable, especially guilty people. They feel the need to fill the void and confessions ensue. It's a technique she's used before.

Lorelei feels no guilt though. Narcissistic as she is, she does feel the need to talk about something, preferably something that will hurt Teresa.

"I like your butchy haircut," she says, her sweet voice full of sugar-coated venom.

Teresa doesn't even blink.

XXX

With the flair of a magician, Jane produces a small velvet box and sets it on Lisbon's desk. She doesn't look up from her computer, the keys clacking under her fingers.

"I'm really busy right now," she says evenly.

"No one is ever too busy for gifts," he replies, rocking back on his heels and smiling. It hurts him a little to smile like that, like everything is fine between them. Lisbon hasn't smiled at him once in months.

She pushes the box back toward him without looking at it. "I am."

He remembers the childlike curiosity and delight when she opened her emeralds he bought her with poker money. He remembers the slight blush of embarrassment when she put them on.

"I won't leave until you open it," he counters.

Lisbon sighs and stops typing. She opens the box and finds the tiny emerald stud earrings nestled inside. He sees a tiny flash of genuine surprise in her eyes before she carefully closes her expression down. They earrings are small, tasteful, the sort of thing she might buy for herself. He guesses she was expecting something more extravagant after the pony incident.

"That's very nice, Jane," she says, snapping the lid of the box closed. "You know I can't accept it."

He shrugs, "You accept gifts on your birthday from your subordinates. So I'm a little late. Put them on." He reaches for the box, opens it, and removes a tiny earring. He moves around her desk and sits on the edge so he can reach her right ear. He brushes it with his fingers, ready to slide the post in place for her, but she flinches back.

"With the short hair," he says conversationally, "you should really wear some earrings. It'll look nice. Besides they match your eyes."

"I can't accept them," she repeats, a tiny quaver of strain in her voice.

"They weren't _that_ expensive, Lisbon." He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure Mashburn gave you more extravagant presents than this."

"Mashburn and I were in a relationship," she replies.

He feels the sting of her words and he watches her eyes shift away. She knows she hurt him.

"We're friends," he offers, knowing it's not nearly enough.

Lisbon's voice is barely more than a whisper. "I don't know."

For a tense, awful second they both sit there, awash in pain, then carefully he places the earring back in the box.

Before getting up he leans forward and brushes the softest of kisses on her cheek. "We are," he says, "friends."

She doesn't reply and he leaves her office, feeling chewed up. Clearly he's hurt her more than he realized, and he's ashamed that her pain wasn't clear to him.

He makes tea, stewing while he waits for the water to boil. Disappearing for months at a time was cruel and unfair to the team, he understands that. He understands that Lisbon worried about him, suffered for him, but he had made his agenda clear from the beginning. There was nothing he won't do to find and kill Red John, even it if means fracturing the relationships he'd been so grateful to have.

Lisbon knew the rules, so it makes no sense that she would be this angry about his disappearance. This leaves the other thing.

He drops the tea bag into the water and watches it sink to the bottom of the cup. He wonders what she'd say if he told it was just meaningless sex, a means to an end? He snorts. He sounds like every faithless husband ever. Also she'd probably deny that she was angry about Lorelei. There's a strong chance that denial would include violence of some kind.

He sighs and closes his eyes, leans back against the counter. Clearly he can't woo her with gifts and seduction, and beyond that he's not sure he has the tools to make anyone love him anymore. He supposes he could tear out his beating heart and hand it to her, but he suspects the drama would be lost on her.

For a moment anger flares up inside him. It wasn't as though they were in a relationship. It wasn't as though he cheated on her. She's certainly had lovers. He sips the tea, filled with bitterness, burning his tongue on the hot liquid.

She has no right to feel betrayed, he thinks. He can almost believe the lie.

XXX

Days after the earring incident she's still seething. She wouldn't be so irritated if he had brought her another gaudy necklace or barnyard animal. The tiny, glittering earrings so were so clearly a personal gift that it cuts her. He thought about what she would like, what would make her happy. He restrained himself to please her.

It's the intimacy and thoughtfulness of that gift that's hard to swallow. He knows her well enough to know exactly what type of gift would get under her skin, make her want so badly to accept it. He's more than willing to use his talent for perception to manipulate her into forgiving him.

What would make Lisbon happy? What would make it all better? Love and affection, the keys to seduction as he once explained to the team. Touching her the way she craved for so long. Giving her a gift only a lover would think of. What a perfect way to charm her, to earn her good graces.

She slams her office door on the way to the coffee pot. She almost wishes someone would get murdered, just so she'd have something to do.

Cho is in the kitchen, and he watches her impassively as she fills her mug.

"Everything okay, Boss?" he asks. The inquiry is uncharacteristically chatty.

"Fine," she growls.

"This thing between you and Jane is really bothering Van Pelt and Rigsby," he says.

Teresa spins around to face him. "What thing between me and Jane?" she demands.

"The ersatz divorce you two are going through because he cheated on you with Lorelei," Cho responds evenly.

Teresa all but gapes. "He didn't… We _are not_ going through…"

Cho shrugs. "Whatever. You should probably figure it out though. It's really bumming Grace out." He takes his coffee and leaves her standing there.

XXX

He's lying on his back on the couch, eyes closed.

"Are you still made at me?" he asks, sensing her standing above him. His voice sounds weary.

"Yes," Teresa answers.

Without opening his eyes he rolls on side away from her and says, "Okay, go away then."

Teresa nudges his back with her knee. "Get up."

His voice is muffled by the cushion. "Why?"

She's so sick of this, she thinks. She's resigned herself to letting go and moving on, but he'll be difficult about that too, of course. "Because you're going to take me to dinner," she says. "And I'm going to forgive you, and tomorrow we're going to act like normal people again."

He turns toward her and opens one eye. "Is this actual forgiveness or 'for the sake of the kids' forgiveness?"

"Probably the latter," she admits, "although Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt aren't kids."

"Will you wear the earrings?" he asks.

"Maybe."

He stares at her.

She sighs. "Yes. Fine."

He's on his back now, grinning. "Will you let me open the door for you, and pull out your chair, and do all the chivalrous things that annoy you?"

"You're really pushing this forgiveness thing," she says flatly.

He stands up, slips into his jacket. "I know the perfect place," he says.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Someone Like You

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning a profit from this.

Summary: "At some point Teresa Lisbon realizes she's grieving for a relationship that never existed." Angst. Jisbon.

Spoilers: 4 x 24

Author's Note: Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. It's been a long time since I've written anything.

III.

Teresa expects Jane to take her to some intimate place, romantic and isolated. He proves he can surprise her yet again when they enter a greasy little diner she's never heard of before. The menus are laminated and taped to the wall next to every booth. It's clean, but clearly has seen better days.

"They have the best burgers in town," Jane confides. "And milkshakes."

Teresa's eyes shift to a passing waitress who is toting a tray of giant burgers, all dripping grease.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she asks.

"Meh, you could stand to gain a couple of pounds," Jane replies, sliding into a nearby booth.

"Excuse me?" Teresa remains standing, arms folded. "Are you actually criticizing my weight?"

Jane gives her that pretend-offended look, the one he uses when he crosses the line then feigns obliviousness. "Honestly, Lisbon, I told you that you were too skinny. There are women who would pay to hear that." He rolls his eyes. "I mean, a milkshake wouldn't kill you. Have you eaten anything since I've been gone besides protein bars and coffee?"

Lisbon narrows her eyes, but sits down across from him. "That forgiveness thing? It's starting to seem less likely."

Jane drops the arrogant, put out tone. He studies her for a moment, face serious. "When I brushed my fingers against you the other day, I felt your hipbones through your pants." His voice is laced with genuine concern.

She shrugs. "It's not like you were taking great care of yourself either."

For a moment he looks over her shoulder, into the distance. "Sometimes I forget how small you really are. It's the cop attitude; it makes you seem larger than life, but you're really very pixie-ish." He reaches across the table and takes her wrist in his hand, circling it easily with room left over for his fingers. "It's an intriguing blend of strength and delicacy."

Teresa knows her pulse is speeding up, knows he notices. She thinks that's the most personal thing he's ever said to her.

She pulls her hand back abruptly and says nothing.

Jane orders for them, bacon cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes. Teresa changes hers to strawberry before the waitress walks away. The eat in silence, and Teresa realizes how ravenous she's been. She watches Jane wipe his fingers with a napkin, every movement unconsciously graceful and that's when she sees it.

His wedding band is on his right hand.

She covers her surprise by drinking the last of her shake. Did he move it after Lorelei? Was the final the line that needed to be crossed?

Jane tosses some cash down onto the table. "C'mon," he says, nodding toward the door.

"Where are we going now?" she asks.

"I don't know about you," he replies, "but I'm going to bed. You woke me up from my nap."

She smirks. Food. Sleep. Typical Jane. Except she knows that he doesn't sleep much at night, which is why he catnaps at work, comforted by all the activity surrounding him.

She pulls out her keys. "I'll take you home," she says as they reach her car.

He turns and looks at her incredulously, like she just suggested she was going to drop him off in the middle of the desert. "I was planning on going home with you," he says.

Teresa almost drops her keys, recovers, unlocks the car. "Excuse me?"

"I've been sleeping in that crappy attic since I got back," he says. "I lost the lease on my apartment. And you've been very mean to me lately. Considering I bought you dinner the least you can do is put me up for the night."

The glow of the streetlamps shadows every crease in his face. She realizes how much he's aged in the past few years. He looks exhausted. She should drive off and leave him there, but she's so weary that she can't even summon the energy to be indignant.

"Fine," she slides into the driver's seat, then adds, "The attic never bothered you before."

He sighs, pulling his seatbelt on. "Yeah, but then I moved up to crappy motel rooms and now I'm just spoiled."

XXX

He follows her into her apartment and makes his way to her bathroom without comment. She hears him rattling around in her linen closet, finding her spare toothbrushes without difficult. She sighs.

From behind the bathroom door she can hear the quiet sounds of domesticity, the toilet flush, water running, Jane brushing his teeth. She makes up the couch with a couple of blankets and a spare pillow before going into her bedroom to change into and oversized tee shirt and a clean pair of panties. She wonders if the shirt is too short for company, then decides she doesn't care since she's obviously not what he was looking for anyway. Bitterly she wonders what Lorelei wears to bed. Probably nothing.

Jane leaves the bathroom and she brushes past him and closes the door. She had been temporarily mollified by the food, but now she's tired and crabby again and angry at him. He invited himself into her home knowing she would allow it. He knows she cares about him enough to do whatever he asks. He knows she wants him so he manipulates her with seductive touches to earn her forgiveness. Worst of all, she's willing to give it. As much as it hurts that she wasn't the one Jane chose, she knows it's a waste of effort to be put out. She's broken hearted that he doesn't reciprocate her feelings, like a teenager with a crush. It's time to act like an adult again.

She finishes her nightly rituals, removing the little make up she wears, brushing her teeth, emptying her bladder. Then she sighs and turns off the light and enters the hall. She can see that the living room lamp is still on. "Goodnight," she calls down the stairs.

He doesn't reply and she rubs her eyes tiredly as she closes her bedroom door.

"You don't have to shout," he says from her bed and she jumps, letting out a little scream.

Jane is on the left side of her bed, his suit neatly folded up on the chair in the corner. He's got one arm thrown across his eyes and the blankets pulled up to his waist. He looks half asleep already.

She moves her mouth but no sound comes out. Jane inviting himself over to sleep in her bed isn't totally out of character for him. Personal space means nothing to the man. But if he was going to do that he'd leave the suit on, the shirt and pants anyway, and lie down on top of her covers. Then he'd make some flippant remark about talking about boys and braiding each other's hair before rolling over and drifting off.

This is entirely different. She stares at his bare chest. Does Jane even wear underwear? She's never considered it before.

"Are you just going to stand there?" he mumbles sleepily.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demands, flushing when she realizes her voice is hoarse.

He lowers his arm and looks at her. "Going to sleep. What are you doing?"

"You are in my bed." She feels her anger rising.

"I see you are a keen detective at home as well as at work," he remarks.

She grits her teeth. "I made up my couch for you. Get out of my bed."

He mimics her. "_My_ couch, _my_ bed. God, Teresa, you are possessive."

She's so angry she barely hears him use her first name. "This is beyond the pale, even for you Jane. Do you realize what a gross violation of my personal space this is?"

Jane looks at her seriously for a moment, then an amused smile crosses his face. "I guess you haven't picked up on it yet, but I would love to violate every inch of your _personal _space, Teresa."

Her stomach drops.

He yawns. "But you're going to have to forgive me because I am well and truly exhausted tonight." He lifts the sheet up. "So get into bed. Quit the histrionics."

She looks for something to throw at him. She considers sleeping on the couch.

"Teresa," he groans. "Just come to bed."

_Screw it_, she thinks. Everything else is a mess, why not? Isn't this what you wanted anyway?

She slides into the bed next to him, notices that he's wearing briefs. Not the ugly white kind, but a pair of black ones that are pretty flattering. He lowers the blankets over her and she rolls onto her side facing away from him, her entire body tense.

_What is this?_ She wonders. _What is he doing?_ Maybe it's a typical Jane ploy and she can't see ahead to the big reveal because she's blinded by her own lust.

She doesn't think she can sleep at all, knowing he's next to her, trying not to touch him.

He solves the problem for her by rolling over and pulling her body against his. She gasps when the heat of his bare chest comes into contact with her back, her buttocks nestled against his groin. He sighs contently against her neck.

"Goodnight," he mutters, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other sliding beneath her pillow.

She holds her breath for a moment, realizing that she can feel his growing erection against her bottom.

She licks her lips. "Jane," she whispers, "you're…"

She actually feels him grin against the skin of her neck. "Mm-hmm," he acknowledges, pressing against her a little more forcefully. His hand moves from her waist, up under her tee shirt and cups her naked breast. He sighs happily.

For a moment she can't breath. It's sexy, but at the same time warm and safe. She feels tears threatening to slip down her cheeks. "Jane?" she whispers.

He kisses her neck softly. "Go to sleep, Teresa. Everything is fine."

She lets out a shuddering breath and her body relaxes against his. So safe. So warm.

She falls asleep almost instantly.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Someone Like You

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning a profit from this.

Summary: "At some point Teresa Lisbon realizes she's grieving for a relationship that never existed." Angst. Jisbon.

Spoilers: 4 x 24

Author's Note: Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. It's been a long time since I've written anything.

IV.

Jane sleeps peacefully, dreamlessly for the first time in forever. Some time just after dawn he feels Teresa stir, but he drifts back off, pulled back down into a dark and quiet rest.

When he wakes up he realizes she's left the bed. He can hear her moving around the apartment, and he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. He feels rested and relaxed, and it makes everything seem so much clearer. He thinks he needs to sleep with Lisbon every night.

When he was with Lorelei he feigned sleep for almost twelve hours so he wouldn't have to repeat the performance or face her. When he held Teresa, he didn't need biofeedback techniques to slow his breathing or relax his mind. The smell of her hair and warmth of her skin was enough to bring him peace. The little ember inside him smolders and brightens.

She comes into the bedroom with her all-business cop stride. Her expression is carefully neutral. She has a mug in her hand. She's wearing slacks and a navy shirt, her badge clipped to her waist.

Jane grins and adjusts the pillows, sitting upright in bed. "Good morning," he says, not bothering to hide the delight in his voice.

Teresa looks at him suspiciously and then leans over the bed, handing him the mug. He sips the tea. The bed is chilly without her, and he lets the beverage warm his hands.

"I'm going to work," she says, all professional and matter of fact. "You'll have to take a cab. I'm not going to be late, waiting for you."

He quirks an eyebrow, but doesn't reply.

She scowls. "We can talk about _this_ later." She gestures to the bed.

He sets the mug on the bedside table. "For the record, I'm very flattered that one night in bed with me makes you forget what day it is."

He watches her frown deepen, then a little panic settle into her eyes when she realizes it's Saturday.

"Don't worry," he offers blithely, "you're escape plans aren't totally destroyed. You could pretend to have a brunch date. Or to be one of those masochistic people who goes running in the morning." He shudders.

"I need to get some work done," she says lamely. Of course that doesn't explain why she expected him at the office on a Saturday.

Jane reaches over and grasps her belt, fingers sliding into the waistband of her slacks. He pulls her closer to him. "You could just stay in bed all day," he offers. "It's nice in here."

He opens her belt, slowly unzips her pants. He removes her badge and tosses it on the floor. He's not going near the gun, though. He hears her breathing become erratic, feels her skin flush even through her clothes. He grins and expertly flicks open the buttons of her blouse, pressing kisses along her stomach, across her ribs. She shudders when he runs his tongue along the edge of her bra, his hands sliding up her back. He tastes her through the sheer fabric, then slowly draws the edge of the bra down with his teeth, exposing her nipple. He blows a gentle stream of warm air across the already hardened tip.

She gasps. Her hands are fisting open and closed by her sides. "Jane," she says, "what is this?"

"Foreplay," he murmurs against her skin, drawing her nipple into his mouth. Her fingers snake through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

For a moment she's melting against him and then she shoves him away, gasping for air.

"I don't know what I'm thinking," she says, her voice raw. Her eyes are wide.

He sprawls backward on the bed, smiling up at her like a contented predator. "I'm thinking about whether or not you enjoy oral sex," he says. Her eyes widen a little further. "Receiving not giving," he adds.

She shudders.

"Okay, the other one too," he admits, the reaches for her hand and pulls her down on top of him. Her gun bumps his hip, hurting a little. "You should get rid of that thing," he says against the skin of her neck, "before you accidentally shoot me."

She bites her lip, fumbling with the holster. "You deserve it."

"Probably, but that's a lot paperwork for you to fill out," he says. He watches her slide the gun into the bedside table drawer. For a second he feels relieved that she's not backing down and just a tiny bit afraid too.

Teresa stretches out across him, kisses him long and slow. Her tongue slides into his mouth and suddenly all his anxiety is gone.

XXX

She is so close she's afraid she'll explode the moment he touches her. Jane pulls her shirt off and tosses it away, then flicks the closure of her bra open. She sighs when she feels her skin against his, so hot. He's hard under the sheet, pressing up into her from the fabric of her pants. With every kiss they rock against each other just a little bit and she feels the pressure inside her building to the point of no return.

He slips his hands into her slacks, pushing them down her legs. She shimmies back off the bed and removes them completely, tripping a little as she kicks them off. She catches herself on the edge of the bed and looks up at him. His eyes are so dark now, his grin cocky and delighted.

_What am I doing?_ she wonders. What she wants, she knows, but what does it mean? Is he just giving her this as some way to repay her for vanishing? He watches her breasts sway and she sees the desire in his eyes. No, he's enjoying this.

Her fingers move to the waistband of her panties, and suddenly her confidence wavers. Is this just because he crossed the invisible line with Lorelei? Is it easier for him now? Dread settles into her. Is she just an easy screw?

She can see his expression has changed; he's reading her face. She stumbles a little and bumps the mug of tea, sending it splattering across the table and down her leg. She gasps.

"It's fine," he says, reaching for her. "Come here."

In her mind's eye she sees Lorelei bent over the bed, Jane naked and disheveled behind her. She swallows thickly. "This is so wrong," she whispers.

He sits up, grabs her hand. She pulls away.

"Teresa," he says. He sounds almost afraid, but she's heard him sound that way before when he was running a con.

She puts her hand to her mouth, swallows a sob, then steadies herself. She runs her fingers through her hair. "I can forgive you," she says hoarsely. "We can go back to being friends, but I can't…um…" She sucks in a breath so she won't cry. "I can't do this with you. Ever."

Shadows of hurt flicker across his face. He fists the sheets in one hand.

Refusing to look at him, she pulls on her pants, her shirt, not bothering with the bra. "I'm going out," she says. Be gone when I get back floats unspoken the air.

He doesn't say anything when she leaves the room and grabs her keys. He doesn't say anything before she slams the front door closed, and she's grateful.

A/N: I'm not ending it here, so no worries. I had every intention of there being full-on sexytimes, but then it sort of evolved on its own. I'm irritated with the two of them, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Someone Like You

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning a profit from this.

Summary: "At some point Teresa Lisbon realizes she's grieving for a relationship that never existed." Angst. Jisbon.

Spoilers: 4 x 24

Author's Note: Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. It's been a long time since I've written anything.

V.

Jane avoids the office for a few days; long enough that the rest of the team starts getting nervous. When he finally shows up again he acts perfectly normal. Teresa is so ashamed of her own behavior that she struggles to maintain her composure around him. She finds excuses to pair him with Cho or Rigsby on their cases. They are back to their awkward dance.

Every time he plays a suspect for a fool she wonders if he was using the same act on her. Every time he grins she remembers his wicked smile while he was undressing her. When their hands accidentally brush once, a violent electric shock hits every nerve ending in her body.

When she fled her apartment she assumed that they could back to the way things were and put the entire episode and her ridiculous jealousy-fueled rage behind them. She thought she could put on her big-girl pants and deal.

Now when she looks at him she doesn't see a co-worker, subordinate or friend. Now she sees him in entirely sexual terms, her vision red-tinged and aching with want. When he sips his tea, she remembers his lips on her skin. When he laughs the sound makes parts of her go tight and low with need.

She doesn't sleep. She barely eats. She feels on the verge of psychosis all because of want. The worst part is that he seems completely unaffected. If he was losing his mind too, she would be comforted that she wasn't the weak one, but Jane is Jane, and she is left alone with her pain.

It isn't until she's ordered to take a few days that she realizes things have to change.

She goes to see Lorelei.

The other woman is smug when she's brought into the interview room.

Teresa wastes no time. "Tell me everything," she says. "You know I want to hear it."

Lorelei sighs with pleasure at the raw pain in Teresa's face.

Teresa doesn't care. She wants to hurt.

XXX

Jane's insomnia is back full-force, so brutal that he only sleeps when he's exhausted beyond reason. Even then he wakes up feeling sticky and confused and a little afraid. He thinks he won't ever sleep well again unless she's with him, which isn't going to happen. _Ever._ She made that clear.

He tortures himself with memories of her kisses, the softness of her skin, the sounds she made. Every memory is a little cut across his skin, red and miserable.

He fakes normalcy, a skill he's mastered, and he pretends not to notice how unhappy she is. Anguish follows her around in a cloud every time he's there. He touches her hand once, just to see, and she reacts as if he's slapped her.

Every time he hears her exhausted sighs he wants to walk over and hold her for a little while. He's fairly certain if he did that she'd shoot him. He snorts. At least it would put an end to this absurdity.

He would leave, but he needs access to Lorelei and to the Red John case. So he keeps them both suffering for his revenge, destroying any chance of happiness either of them has. He obsesses over his ability to ruin the lives of the people he loves.

And he does love her; that's the worst part. He is in love with her, passionately and madly. He has been, but he pushed back behind all his mental barriers to protect her from Red John.

He sips his tea, long since cold and watches Rigsby use a rubber band to fling pencils into the ceiling tiles.

He shouldn't have worried about Red John. He was more than capable of hurting her himself.

XXX

Lorelei describes her liaison in detail.

It takes Teresa a moment to realize that the person Lorelei is describing isn't Jane, at least not the Jane she almost slept with. At first she thinks it's a lie, that Lorelei is trying to mislead her intentionally. She uses her fatigue to mask any surprise, to keep Lorelei from suspecting she's onto the deception.

Lorelei spouts off a litany of vicious little descriptions

"He didn't waste any time kissing me. He knew what he wanted."

_Jane's long, languorous kisses. His fingers threading through her hair to hold her in place._

"I went down on him. Then he told me to lie on my stomach."

_His remark about oral sex for her. The attention he paid to just one breast, that alone nearly bringing her to orgasm. The promise of a slow, bone-melting liaison. _

"He was a little rough with me, agent Lisbon. He just took what he wanted. I bet you didn't know he could be like that did you?" she smirks.

He didn't take anything, Teresa thinks, he gave. He found joy in the giving.

The mental picture she's been torturing herself with changes: Jane disappearing into his memory palace as he does what he needs to. Jane alone and sinking to one more low to accomplish his mission.

The image changes again to Jane reaching out to her, pulling her into his arms. Jane kissing her and telling her "Everything is fine." _Jane loving her_.

She is suddenly overwhelmingly sad.

Lorelei picks up on it and smiles, proud of herself. "Sorry you couldn't find out for yourself, but really, I tried to give the best picture possible. I'd hate for you to spend the rest of your life wondering."

Teresa is silent, hating the other woman and pitying her the same time.

"Still," Lorelei continues, "he wasn't as good as Red John."

Teresa sees something pass across Lorelei's face and recognizes it instantly. She knows that little flicker of hurt intimately because she carried it inside her too.

"You never slept with Red John," she says evenly.

Lorelei narrows her eyes. "You have no idea what I—"

"You've never even met him," Teresa interrupts. "He passed you around like a whore, but he never even bothered to meet you face to face. You mean nothing to him."

Lorelei lunges at her across the table, her face insane with rage. Her restraints clank loudly in the room as they pull her back like a dog on a lead. Teresa stands up calmly and leaves.

She drives straight to the CBI. She checks the attic, the couch, even her own office. Jane is gone.

Grace watches her search quietly. "He left an hour ago," she says. "I don't know where he went. I hope you find him, boss."

Teresa smiles weakly. She will. Even if takes months again.

She goes home and falls into a deep and exhausted sleep. When she wakes up the green numbers on her alarm clock tell her that she's slept for only a few hours. The apartment is dark and quiet. She feels disoriented and feverish.

She reaches for her phone to call him one more time. She knows he won't pick up, but she has to try. She rubs her temple as it rings, and then she starts as she hears his ring tone go off a fraction of a second later. The sound is coming from downstairs.

She jumps out of bed almost comically and rushes to the stairs. Jane is stretched out on her couch, the TV on but muted. He's got a cup of tea in one hand, watching the screen by the light of a single lamp.

He puts his tea down and turns to her. She feels like a little kid at Christmas, standing on the steps in her pajamas, amazed that Santa came after she was so naughty.

She pads down the steps and stands next to him, silent.

"I am sorry," he says on a whisper. "I know that I'm hurting you. I know that I need to leave. I can't give it up, though, not yet."

She knows he means Red John.

"Give the case to someone else and I'll go," he tells her. "I'll follow it and leave you alone. Or shoot me, that's a faster solution."

Everything is so still and quiet and fraught with tension. Teresa shivers and he hands her a blanket from the back of the couch. Their hands touch and she shivers, squeezing her eyes closed. He pulls away like he's been burned.

"I talked to Lorelei," she says. "She told me all about you."

She sees the shame in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Jane," she says. "I'm so sorry you had to do that."

He is absolutely silent for a moment, not breathing. Then he says, "She looked a little bit like you, if I really pretended. It was the only reason I could do it at all." He reaches out, wraps the blanket around her. "It should have been you, Teresa. If I could do it all over again, it would have been you."

She takes his hand. "It still can be."


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Someone Like You

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning a profit from this.

Summary: "At some point Teresa Lisbon realizes she's grieving for a relationship that never existed." Angst. Jisbon.

Spoilers: 4 x 24

Author's Note: Thank you to dearmag, Cal13, Unhealthyviewinghabits, Little-Firestar84, visagoth, Chiisana Minako (good grammar catch!), ss, mwalter1, Zero237, Sonseeahray, kateyo, RavenClaw01, lysemma, pandamanda69, and to all guest reviewers. I appreciate it!

VI.

Jane lets Teresa lead him to her bed. His heart is pounding like a teenager's. Of course, when he was a teenager he was never this nervous about sex. He managed to charm the girls even then. He squeezes her hand thinking that this means so much more because of everything they've been though.

She closes the door and returns to him, undressing him the darkness. He peels off her clothing, unable to see her in the darkened room. He bends to slide her shorts down her legs, his fingers brushing the skin of her thighs, and she gasps. He stands up and finds her lips unerringly in the blackness. They stand there, naked bodies pressed against each other, kissing until he feels like he can't breathe. Every languorous slide of her tongue against his pulls him deeper into a sea of need. He slips his fingers into her hair. He is drowning in her.

Teresa pulls back and his pulse speeds up as he waits for her to bolt again. She wraps her arms around his waist, brushing her stomach against his erection. "Will you just hold me for a little while?" she asks softly.

He thinks this is good; he needs to catch his breath. Loving her now is bittersweet, too close to the edge of pain. She pulls him to the bed, their clothes and the blanket she was wrapped in laying forgotten on the carpet. They lie down, her head resting on his shoulder, his hand stroking her back. He counts every soft breath she takes until he falls asleep too.

XXX

Jane wakes up sometime just before dawn, and the room is cast in a shadowy haze. He has enough light to see Teresa on her back next to him, one hand clutching his arm like she's going to stop him from leaving in his sleep. He rolls onto his side, curling his body around hers, and presses a kiss to her neck. He intended for it to be a single affectionate touch, but once he tastes her he can't stop.

He runs his tongue along the side of her neck, down to her collarbone, and she sighs. He kisses her there, then between her breasts. Teresa's eyes are opening sleepily. He grins at her. He palms one breast, tracing the dark pink tip with his fingers. He lowers his mouth to its companion and relishes the feeling of her hardening against his tongue. Her lazy little moans of pleasure shoot straight to his groin, and he groans against her skin.

Her fingers toy with the hair at the top of his neck. "Jane," she murmurs.

_Not yet_, he thinks.

He brushes his lips across her stomach, her hip, moving lower, softly biting one thigh before resting his cheek against it. When he looks up at her she is languid with pleasure, her eyes liquid and dark. Her breasts are pink and swollen, and the plane of her stomach is alabaster white above him. He trails his fingers down her stomach, across her navel and finally through the soft dark hair at the juncture of her thighs.

She bites her lip. He grins, kisses her thigh. His fingertips part her sex, and he looks at her there too. She is all coral pink and so beautiful. He kisses her. She gasps, "Jane."

_Not yet._

He slides one thigh over his shoulder, her foot tracing lazy patterns on his back. He presses his mouth to her, touches his tongue against her gently and relishes her moan. He tastes her, caresses her, the intimacy of the act making him burn with fever. She convulses beneath him, gasping, "Patrick!"

He smiles smugly. _Now._

He positions himself over her, hooks her legs over his hips.

Teresa kisses him hard, wraps her legs around his waist and presses up into him, sliding around him in one fast movement. He gasps in surprise.

He can feel her laughter.

"What?" she asks, licking his neck.

"I can't believe you just deflowered me like that," he says, "without even asking first."

She bites his shoulder, hard, then soothes the hurt with her tongue.

He groans, the pain meshing with the pleasure where they are joined. It's almost overwhelming. "I always though you might be a little feisty in the sack, but Jeez…"

"Would you shut up and do something?" she asks, her voice laced with humor. She wiggles her hips for emphasis, and he groans again. "You talk too much," she tells him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"I wasn't talking a minute ago, remember?" he says a little savagely, but with a smile. He moves, and they both sigh in pleasure.

She meets his every thrust, her hands and mouth busy on his neck, his shoulders, his lips. He can only focus on the pleasure spiraling out from where they are joined, never wanting it to end. He is close, so, close, and he pushes into her harder, almost frantic. Distantly he wonders if it's too rough, but then he feels the sharp sting of her nails on his back, and she shudders beneath him, his name ragged on her lips. The last of his control frays at that moment, and he joins her, a hoarse, wordless cry escaping his throat.

XXX

He is heavy on top of her, but Teresa likes it.

_Patrick_, she thinks, smiling with the boneless after effects of pleasure. She traces little patterns on his back. _Patrick, Patrick, Patrick_…

"I want you to know, I'm feeling very vulnerable and used," he says, rolling onto his back. "I think I'd like to be the little spoon."

She snorts and shoves at him with a foot.

He smiles and pulls her against him, reaching up to cover them with a sheet. He presses a kiss into her hair.

"I realize the timing is bad," he says seriously, "but I love you, Teresa."

She smiles, a little watery, but happy. "I love you too, Patrick."

"Will you stay with me?" he asks on a whisper.

She leans up and kisses him. "Try and make me leave."

XXX

"You're late," Teresa scolds, her voice irritated.

Jane looks down at the body, currently being photographed by crime scene techs. "What's the rush? He's not going anywhere."

She sighs, ignores him. She barks an order, "Cho, see if you can find the ex-wife. Rigsby, Van Pelt, go through the security camera footage."

There are murmurs of "Yes, boss."

She turns to leave, to find the chief of police so that she can coordinate with him.

Jane has that look in his eye, like he's seeing things that aren't there. "Brought you this," he mumbles, distracted, and pulls an apple out of his pocket. "I figured you haven't eaten yet."

He knows she hasn't eaten because he was in bed with her when the phone rang. It's the same place he's been nearly every night for weeks. It seems neither of them is capable of sleeping alone anymore.

She takes the apple, her fingers brushing his. It's a casual, accidentally touch between co-workers, but to them it's a secret kiss. No one can know, not yet, not until Red John is dead. It's enough for now.

She bites into the apple and squelches a sigh of contentment. The rest of the team suspects, but none of them would ever say anything.

Jane gives the body one more look. "Probably the ex. This is boring. I'm going to take a nap."

"Really," she says dryly.

He shrugs. "I haven't been sleeping much lately," then he shoots her a wicked grin.

She rolls her eyes, feigning embarrassment at his innuendo. "Lucky you."

Jane strolls away. "Lucky me, indeed."


End file.
